Shock

Shock

June 10, 2013

Today I found out my psychiatrist is going to just be working in nursing homes now and that my last appt. has been moved up to the 26^th.

I'm alone. No one understands. I'm fighting back tears as I write this because no one understands and never has. Even my therapist said, “It affects me, too” and I want to reach through the phone, grab her and say, “Yeah, but you weren't fantasizing about jumping out of a window just yesterday.” And that's on five meds.

I wish I could go to a meeting and be surrounded by people who understood, be embraced, hugged, and loved. But instead all I get is judgment, screwed up faces who look at me as if what I have is catching, who back away and mutter stupid platitudes like “Everything happens for a reason.”

I was fantasizing earlier that if a certain former friend said that to me about this situation I would go grab a knife and tell her that if she ever said that to me again, “I'd kill her.”

I don't believe everything happens for a reason and never have. Otherwise, why would kids die of cancer? Why would there be mental illness? Why would I get sober for five years the first time and then start hearing noises in my head for no apparent reason?

Everything DOES NOT happen for a reason.

I'm tired of being tormented.

I'm tired.

I'm just tired.

Now, I feel everything slipping away. My job, my sanity, nothing ever lasts forever, nothing good. Why does it come so easy for so many people. I don't understand.

Why can't I hold on to anything? Why do people have to be so damn cold and uninvolved?

Why do so many people pretend to care?

I can't lose another job. I've had over 75.

If there's such a thing as reincarnation I want to come back as a pampered pet, but only with the condition that nothing ever happens to my family and I don't wind up with an abusive or neglectful family or at the pound.

I've already been through the foster care system; etc.

Now I have to find a new psychiatrist who takes Medicare before I run out of meds. I feel like I'm in one of those Sci Fi movies where I have to find a new dr. before I morph into something horrible, the horrible being the terrible me off my meds. I can't function like that, I can't work like that. I can't drive hardly. I'm a manic-depressive mess.

People don't understand. They're just like la dee dah. All casual.

I go through my life daily, working medicated, as it should be, well not as it should be but as it has to be so I can earn a living. It's not how I want it. No one wants this or would choose this.

But it's how it has to be. I accepted that a long time ago.

People think it's a choice.

It hasn't been a choice for me since 1993.

That's when I had to swallow this bitter pill.